


Blood and Dust

by boopboop



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Everyone Has Issues, Family Feels, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Infinity War spoilers, Kinda, M/M, Marriage, Recovery, Romance, Shore leave in wakanda, Space Battles, we've got a hulk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 02:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14463249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boopboop/pseuds/boopboop
Summary: "If we can't protect the world, you can be damn sure we'll avenge it."Thanos should have killed them when he had the chance.POST INFINITY WAR





	Blood and Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so we're all insanely traumatized by Infinity War and I'm handling it the way I handle most things, which is to say I'm trusting blindly in my ability to muddle a plot and some feels out of the carnage that is my poor heart. 
> 
> I'm just gonna hit the ground running and we can all be miserable together. 
> 
> This fic is told in two parts. Half is a non-chronological exploration of Bucky and Steve Being Husbands In Wakanda, and the other half is the Avengers avenging shit (and working out some feels, cos, ya know...). So you know, feels AND explosions, cos that's my jam! In theory both parts will all tie together nicely and everyone will get a cookie and a free vacation at the end. 
> 
> (I should also add that quantum physics is totally not my forte, so... pinch of salt in places!)
> 
> Many thanks to Steph for turning my rambling stream of consciousness into something coherent!

_ “Countless words count less than the silent balance between ying and yang.” _

_ ~ Lao Tzu _

 

** WAKANDA **

_BEFORE_....

There’s no roof in the bedroom. The cottage is a gift from the Royal Family, and though small, it contains all the necessities and comforts required for a modest, sedate way of living. But there’s no roof in the bedroom. There is a forcefield, much like the one that protects the city, that keeps out both the rain and too-curious birds, but no beams, no wood, no ceiling to cut them off from the world. On a night like this, a night like so many of his nights here are, there’s only the stars above, vast and magnificent.

The bed is more of a pallet, sturdy and comfortable and big enough for two super soldiers to do what they’re doing right now. Steve’s arms fit around Bucky’s waist, his head tucked into the space between Bucky’s neck and shoulders. Every so often, he’ll turn his head just a little and have to blink dark hair out of his eyes.

“Go to sleep, Rogers,” Bucky murmurs, not opening his eyes. The ceiling – or lack of one – is for him. No dark spaces, no locked doors. It’s a familiarity for both of them. Seventy-five years ago, they slept under the stars, cold and in constant danger. Five years ago, Steve thought Bucky dead. Four years ago, he might as well have been. Three years ago, they were separated by half the world, both looking up at different heavens. Two years ago, Steve got to keep Bucky safe. A year ago, T’Challa smiled at them, and now Steve gets to lay under the stars with his husband.

Steve’s arms tighten. “I’msleep,” he says, tired, comfortable, sated...and unable to switch his brain off.

“Uh-huh.” Bucky’s quieter now. He won’t push the way he used to.

But that doesn’t mean he’ll let Steve wallow.

“I am.”

“You still leaving in the morning?”

“Nat’s got a lead on some of Crossbones’ old accomplices,” Steve says, rushing to justify his leaving in a way he knows he doesn’t need to. Bucky knows him better than anyone. He knows how his mind works. How his heart works. He knows that Steve can’t stop fighting, no matter how much he might cherish the peace. “We’re gonna drop them out over the Raft and let Ross’ guys handle the rest.”

Bucky hums softly and turns so he can press himself closer into Steve’s embrace. “So sleep is probably a good idea.”

“It’s a great idea,” Steve agrees.

Bucky finally opens his eyes, and for a second Steve forgets how to breathe. God, he loves him. He love him more than anything. 

And this... this is more than he ever dreamed possible.

He kisses Bucky because he can, and for a moment, Bucky lets him. Then fingers slip between their mouths and press against Steve’s lips. “So what’s the problem?”

Steve kisses each finger, then Bucky’s palm, his wrist. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“Just come back.” Bucky smiles. “That’s all you’ve gotta do.”

“I’ll always come back,” Steve swears. “I’d come back from beyond the grave.”

“I’ve kinda done that already, so it wouldn’t be all that impressive.” Bucky’s teasing smirk stretches into a smile that lights up the darkest corners of Steve’s soul. It doesn’t stop Steve growling and rolling them both over. It doesn’t stop Steve pinning Bucky beneath him, as though the mere presence of his body can dissuade every force in the universe from trying to take Bucky away from him again.

“You’re a jerk,” Steve says. “God knows why I miss you when I’m gone.”

“It’s a mystery for the ages,” Bucky agrees.

And because Bucky has been taken from him too many times, because the value of now, of each second, is etched into Steve’s bones, he can’t not say, “I love you.”

And he can’t not want to stay forever in the moment when Bucky looks back at him and says, “I love you, too.”

* * *

 

** WAKANDA **

_AFTER_....

Their blankets are still neatly folded at the end of the pallet. The stars above are the same ones he has mapped out when he closes his eyes and thinks of home. Here, in this one, safe place, everything is supposed to be right.

But Steve has walked past so many grief-stricken, horrified people to get here. There’s been no need for enhanced senses to hear the sobbing. Down by the edge of the lake, a woman is rocking herself back and forth for comfort. Her husband died years ago. There’s no sign of her two boys, though, the ones who’d sit and tell Bucky stories while he worked, the ones who looked at the man the world feared as the Winter Soldier, called him White Wolf, and showed him a kindness long thought absent from the world.

They’re dust somewhere. Like Sam. Like T’Challa. Like Wanda.

Like Bucky.

Stars blur above him as he rubs the heels of his palms into exhausted, gritty eyes. Every time he thinks he can’t possibly have tears left to cry – that he thinks he’s reached his limit and his heart will surely break – the universe finds a way to prove him wrong.

This whole space is made to be safe, to be comforting, but the things put in place to help Bucky’s claustrophobia are now suffocating Steve. The stars are no longer a comfort, and everywhere he looks there’s something to remind him of a life lived so briefly and snatched away so cruelly.

Steve falls to his knees, grief in his lungs like water.

“He loved you.” Shuri’s quiet presence is announced by the gentle compassion in her voice. Steve has spent very little time with T’Challa’s sister, but he knows how much she has come to mean to Bucky, and he knows he owes her a debt that can never be repaid. Steve rises to his feet, sore from battle and heartache.

“Highness.” His voice is choked with unshed tears. His grief is reflected in her eyes. Her brother, her mother, and so many of her people have been taken from her.

Shuri tries and fails to smile at him. “Captain Rogers.”

“I’m sorry, I should be....” Doing something. Helping in some way. Not here, wallowing in misery.

She quickly shakes her head. “Don’t. It’s.... Don’t.”

“Has the Council reached a decision?” When he left the city, the Council had been convened to name a new monarch. The line of succession falls to Shuri, as T’Challa’s only living relative, but he knows that it’s not a foregone conclusion. One of the other tribes could challenge.

But even before she speaks, Steve knows what she’s going to say. There’s something subtle in the way she stands, her shoulders soft and slumped with grief, but her back straight and strong. She’s carrying a weight she never expected to carry. A responsibility she should’ve never been asked to bare.

“M’Baku didn’t challenge,” she says. “We all thought he would, but...” she shakes her head tiredly. “I think he’s warming to me.”

“I can’t think of anyone who’d care for the people of Wakanda more than you do,” Steve says. “Your brother would be proud.”

Tears immediately fill her eyes, but they don’t fall. She’s still so young, but there’s more stubbornness and bravery in her heart than many twice her age. “The Heart-Shaped Herb is still months away from flowering. Maybe if I’d worked harder, or...”

“Shuri, don’t. None of this is your fault.”

“I’m not ready to be the Black Panther,” she whispers. Her eyes dart to the doorway, ashamed and afraid she might be overheard. Steve might owe her his life, his happiness, but he’s not her subject. She doesn’t need to be infallible with him in the way she does with her people. “I can’t.”

“I think you’re underestimating yourself,” Steve says gently.

Her chin raises stubbornly. “Fine. I don’t  _ want _ to be the Black Panther. T’Challa is the Black Panther.” 

“Shuri....”

“No! I lost my brother once, I won’t do it again!” Steve is too hollowed by his own grief to know where to even start comforting her with her own. “Balance, that what Thanos wanted, right?”

Balance, and that meant murdering trillions of people.

It meant murdering Bucky.

“Where are you going with this?”

“Perfect balance. In all things. In life. In death. In creation and destruction. And in power. Duality in all things, at all levels. Courage before fear, doubt before certainty. If that is what Thanos has perfected, then he has made a mistake.”

Steve’s treacherous heart gives a frail beat in response to the building fire in her voice. “A mistake? How? What?”

“The Infinity Stones are the most powerful objects in creation. And Thanos made them into one weapon, a singular object powered by the Cosmos itself. And then he made the universe in perfect balance.”

The reality of what she’s saying unfurls, and that fragile beat of hope repeats itself, stronger this time. “You’re saying that there’s something out there with the power to undo what he’s done.”

Shuri nods, eagerly. “Death and Creation are two sides of the same coin. Thanos destroyed trillions of lives. That power, that energy, had to go somewhere. I don’t know where, I don’t know what we’re looking for. I don’t know anything other than the fact that I  _ will _ save T’Challa and my mother. I will save Bucky. I will protect my people and return the Black Panther to his home. And since I’ve never actually fought aliens before yesterday, I’d appreciate all the help I can get.”

It’s a shot in a trillion. An impossible hope. Shuri stands in the doorway, brave and furious and unwilling to give in to what the universe is saying is inevitable. 

Steve looks up to the stars and feels the ghost of Bucky’s lips against his own.

When he’s able to look back down to Shuri, he bows his head to the Queen Regent of Wakanda. 

“Highness,” he says, and prays the unspeakable gratitude he feels is conveyed with that simple gesture. It should be ‘Majesty’. She is Queen now. But Steve can’t bring himself to accept T’Challa is really gone, and the flash of relief in her eyes makes it clear she’s not ready to hear it, either. “When do we get started?”

Shuri lights up and smiles for the first time that day. She holds out a hand and beckons Steve from the cottage. Outside, waiting for him, the last of his family remain.

“Told ya he’d come,” Nat says. She’s come out of fights hurt worse than this one, but she looks tired in a way Steve’s never seen before. To her right, Bruce stands with his arms wrapped around himself. He nods and edges closer to Rhodey. They both look far older than their years.

It’s not just the last of the Avengers who’re there.

General Okoye and Lord M’Baku both follow Shuri with their eyes, clearly relieved to have her back in sight again. Regardless of Shuri’s thoughts on the matter, she is their Queen now. They won’t want to fail her, and they won’t to fail T’Challa by allowing her to be hurt on their watch.

Thor and the talking raccoon named Rocket round out the group.

“Let’s go make this A-Hole pay for what he’s done,” Rocket growls.

“Where do we start?” Bruce asks.

Thor steps forward. He looks inhuman. Beyond mortality. Power and wrath coil beneath his skin. “Where it all started.” He holds the great axe, Stormbreaker, aloft and the world explodes into a million colors. “We go to Titan.”


End file.
